Walter De La Mare.
HERE lies a most beautiful lady,
Light of step and heart was she:
I think she was the most
That ever was in the West Country.
But beauty vanishes; beauty passes;
However rare, rare
And when I crumble who shall remember
This lady of the West Country?
IS there anybody there? said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence
champd the grasses
Of the forests ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Travellers
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
Is there anybody there? he said.
But no one
descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leand over and lookd into his grey eyes,
he stood perplexd and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams
on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirrd and shaken
By the lonely
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse
moved, cropping the dark turf,
Neath the starrd and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
and lifted his head:
Tell them I came, and no one answerd,
That I kept my word, he said.
least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
WHEN I lie where shades of darkness
Shall no more assail mine eyes,
Nor the rain make
When the wind sighs;
How will fare the world whose wonder
Was the very proof of me?
fades, must the rememberd
Oh, when this my dust surrenders
Hand, foot, lip, to dust again,
May these loved and loving
Please other men!
May the rusting harvest hedgerow
Still the Travellers Joy entwine,
And as happy
Posies once mine.
Look thy last on all things lovely,
Every hour. Let no night
Seal thy sense in deathly slumber
Thou have paid thy utmost blessing;
Since that all things thou wouldst praise
Beauty took from
those who loved them
In other days.
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